


by the water, by the crippling waves

by ceserabeau



Series: Sterek AU One shots [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Hawaii Five-0, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3977773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceserabeau/pseuds/ceserabeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The funeral is a Sunday. No matter how bright the sun is, no matter how clear the air or blue the ocean, Stiles knows he’ll always remember this day in shades of black. </p><p>Hawaii 5-0 AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	by the water, by the crippling waves

**Author's Note:**

> Hawaii 5-0 AU, kinda. Title from _Fire_ by Noah Gunderson

The funeral is a Sunday. No matter how bright the sun is, no matter how clear the air or blue the ocean, Stiles knows he’ll always remember this day in shades of black.

After, when the coffin has been lowered into the earth and the eulogies have been said, when the wake is over and everyone has gone home, Stiles puts his old board into the truck and drives to the ocean.

Out here, under the sun with his feet in the sand, where the air smells like salt and a thousand voices surround him, the weight lifts from his shoulders and he can breathe easier. When he’s on his board, cresting the waves with water splashing against his skin, he feels free. It’s like nothing has happened. It’s like he never left.

Back on dry land, Stiles is strapping his board back up when a voice says, “Excuse me, Stanislaw Stilinski?”

Stiles turns to find a guy standing behind him, dressed in a sharp blue suit, a gold badge glinting on his belt. Stiles frowns at him, sizing him up. The guy’s police, that much is obvious: a detective probably, but he’s no local, not in a suit like that. Stiles knows the police department, and there’s not many guys that come to mind who fit the bill.

“You’re on that task force,” he says, squinting at the guy in the sunlight. “You’re investigating my dad’s murder.”

The guy blinks at him, a surprised look crossing his face before he steps forward, hand outstretched. “Mr Stilinski, I’m –”

Stiles holds up a hand to stop him. “No, please, call me Stiles.” He half-smiles, but it feels fake. “Mr Stilinski is my dad’s name.”

The guy smiles back, a quick twitch of the lips. “I’m Detective Hale. I’m with 5-O.”

Stiles knows that name: Hale was the one who called him, who gave him the news. He had expected him to be some middle-aged guy, balding with a beer belly, but Hale is young, not that much older than Stiles himself, with sharp cheekbones and the kind of body Stiles wants to rub up against.

“What can I do for you Detective Hale?” he asks, trying to not let his thoughts show on his face.

“I just wanted to catch you up on the investigation,” Hale says, as his hand falls back to his side.

Stiles takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “The funeral was today,” he tells him, and when he looks, Hale is nodding in understanding.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Stiles is surprised that actually sounds it. “I would have been there, but we had some leads to run down.”

Stiles looks at him again, takes in the way Hale’s mouth is turned down at the corners, the soft look in his eyes. “You knew him,” he realises. “Did you work together?”

Hale sighs, nodding again. “Your father was my partner for a few years. He showed me how it works here.”

“So I’m right,” Stiles guesses, “You’re not from here.”

Hale smiles wryly. “What gave it away?”

“Oh, you know,” Stiles says, “Just the suit. And the shoes. And the hair.”

It shocks a laugh out of Hale. “Thanks for being so honest,” he tells him.

“Well, I try.” It hits him that he’s flirting. He’s flirting with the detective investigating his dad’s murder, and he’s enjoying it. His life is weird. “How long have you been here?” he asks instead, turning away to make sure his board is secure.

“Nearly six years now,” Hale says from behind him. “I got recruited for the 5-O Task Force just before he retired.”

“You like it?” Stiles asks over his shoulder.

“It’s an interesting job,” Hale tells him. There’s a sound of scuffling feet, sand shifting, and Hale says, “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem all that broken up about your father’s death.”

Stiles turns to stare at him. “It’s not – I mean, I am. I just –” He stops, takes a moment to recover. “Me and my dad, we weren’t close. I moved to Chicago when I was seventeen. I haven’t been back in eight years.”

“That’s a long time to go without seeing your family,” Hale says.

Stiles shrugs at him. “We made our peace about it a long time ago.”

A surprised look crosses Hale’s face, and Stiles knows he doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t call him on it though, just says, “He always spoke very highly of you. He was proud of you.”  

Stiles barely holds in his scoff. “You wanted to catch me up on the investigation?”

“Have you ever heard the name Deucalion?” When Stiles shakes his head, Hale nods. “Your father was working an unsolved homicide from five years ago: the murder of a woman named Jennifer Blake. The main suspect was a man known as Deucalion.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s a drug smuggler,” Hale explains. “Blake was dating his second-in-command, Kali. They broke up right before she was murdered. Your father thought Blake had been killed because she knew too much.”

Stiles frowns. “But Deucalion wasn’t arrested?”

“There wasn’t enough evidence to tie him to the murder.” Hale shrugs. “But we think your dad might have come across something –”

“– and it got him killed.” Stiles sighs, digging his thumbs into the corners of his eyes. “God, he could never let things go. He was always haunted by the unsolved ones.”

Hale raises an eyebrow. “It’s what made him a good cop,” he points out.

“I know that,” Stiles says, “But it didn’t always make him a good father.” When Hale frowns at him, Stiles just smiles peaceably. “Thanks for keeping me in the loop, Detective.”

“Call me Derek,” Hale tells him.

“I will, Derek.”

And Hale – Derek – he smiles, bright and warm, the kind of smile that would make Stiles weak at the knees, make his heart beat a little faster in his chest. But he’s the son of the victim and Derek is the investigating officer, so he’s not going there. He’s not – as long as Derek doesn’t smile at him like that again.


End file.
